It’s Gang Stuff
by Omnipotentia
Summary: Keith and Lance are leaders of two opposing gangs at school. When one of their epic showdowns ends up ruining homecoming for everyone, the principal decides that their feud has gone on for long enough and gives them an ultimatum: As a duo, run for student council presidents in the upcoming elections or get suspended indefinitely. (Klance, high school AU)
1. Principal‘s Office

Lance had messed up. He'd known he messed up the moment his mother stood in the doorway looking about ready to strangle her boy, one hand on her hip and a phone in the other. Reflecting on it now, squeezed into the principal's office with his furious parents, a way too chill headmaster and a carpet from the 80s, he really should have seen it coming sooner. He really should have seen it coming the moment the police started questioning the students in front of the school. Actually, he probably should have seen it coming the moment the disco ball came crashing down on the dance floor before midnight. Okay, maybe he would even go as far as to admit that he should have known the moment he spotted a mullet in a sea of well-groomed hair.

As Lance McClain tried to pinpoint the exact point from where his life had started spiraling downhill, and had done so at an alarming speed, a familiar figure made its way into the room. And by familiar figure he really meant 'greatest asshole and worst human being alive, second only to Hitler'. Lance didn't have to turn his head to see who he had the pleasure with, but the moment he heard footsteps his head snapped back anyway. He couldn't help it; a man had instincts. And his instincts told him that another alpha had entered his territory. He could smell mullet stink from ten miles away.

His eyes narrowed as he glared at his rival, who shook principal Wimbleton-Smythe's hand without so much as sparing him a glance. Keith Kogane looked the least bit rueful as he flopped down in the chair next to him and flipped him off under the table, practiced poker face on as he pretended to focus. That sneaky asshole! Lance gasped dramatically and grabbed his mother's arm to let her in on the injustice done to him, but she just pulled her arm away. Instead of the warm understanding he had been hoping for, he was met with warning eyes that not-so-gently asked him to cut it out. With a frustrated groan, Lance rolled his head back and looked up at the ceiling, shoulders popping into place. Well, if shit hit the fan, he could at least say that he had tried to warn her.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Keith's older brother Shiro, who looked just as unhappy to be there as he did. Not much was known about Shiro- and the things he did know, everybody knew because they were common knowledge. Everyone had at least heard of the nickname they called him on the streets, The Champion. Everyone at least knew he had been awarded several bravery medals for fighting ISIS in the Middle East, which had practically earned him the status of a war hero in their little town. Shiro had a big scar spread across his nose from his time in the military and his hair had gone white from worrying about his troublesome kid brother, of that there was no doubt. And the rest was pretty much shared assumptions most people _believed_ to be facts. If there was a difference between one thing and the other, Lance wouldn't know.

Despite his fame, Shiro didn't show his face in town very often. But whenever he did, he always looked about ready to give someone the lecture of their life. Not to mention that he could probably choke a guy to death with his huge prosthetic arm. How he'd lost his real arm though, nobody really knew. Lance couldn't really blame the guy for looking so serious all the time- if the mullet were his brother, he would have that unsmiling expression stuck on his face, too. But still, he thought Shiro was a pretty decent guy, apart from being directly related to Keith and all. Under different circumstances and in a different timeline, that guy definitely would have been someone to look up to. A role model to admire, even.

Lance's attention was on the principal the moment he raised his hand to twirl his unusually orange mustache. With his beige pinstripe vests and the red bowtie, Lance thought that he looked like someone straight out of an American cabaret show from the Roaring Twenties. Hell, he was probably old enough to have been a cabaret artist in the 20s. And definitely the type to give people a show worth their money and time. Not that he would ever tell Principal Wimbleton-Smythe, whom everyone usually just referred to as Coran because he had specifically asked the students to.

He was a pleasant fellow who tried very hard to look youthful and hip in front of the students. Coran had the cringe down to a science, which was totally fine since every student- as far as he was concerned- loved their eccentric headmaster anyway. He just had something so grandfatherly about him that made it hard to hate him, for the same reason that one might not resent a puppy for peeing on the floor… Okay, right, so maybe their school was a _little_ weird for having this thing where everyone agreed that their principal shared personality traits with a cute little Yorkshire terrier, but who cared? He was a sweet elderly man who deserved all the credit for being a beloved oddball.

The fact that Coran rarely got anyone into trouble probably helped with the image. Well, emphasis on _rarely_, not _never_. Frustratingly enough, it always seemed to be Lance who was on the receiving end of his rare displays of disciplinary measures. Lance, who had started out as a promising student at the beginning of freshman year. Lance, who had two older, super successful siblings with clean records and perfect scores whose legacy made it impossible for him to compete. Lance, who had been sent to Coran's office far too often for a clean record and perfect scores. Usually him and Keith both, but who cared about Keith anyway? Lance was pretty sure that it was mullet-man's fault ninety percent of the time anyway. Any trouble coming his way served him right. He was a firm believer in karma.

Coran was still rolling his mustache between his thumb and index finger when he spoke up. His voice was unusually chipper, given the situation they were in. Lance didn't like it one bit. "Since all of us are here now, let's not beat about the bush, shall we? Let us hear the story from your perspectives, boys", Coran said, ever the patient headmaster, and gestured to the two boys in question.

And well, what about the two boys in question?

Keith was still making obscene gestures at him under the table. And Lance, who had never been able to turn down a challenge, wasn't ready to pass up an opportunity to one-up the guy. And so he started countering the gestures with some of his own. He pointed Keith his right index finger and the grouped finger tips of his left hand. In his home country, this gesture suggested that Keith had five fathers, or more easily put, that his mother was promiscuous. Keith just looked confused though, to which he allowed himself a small victorious smirk. Being raised international just had its perks.

"Atención, mijo", his mother scolded behind him and patted his arm. It was a light touch, but a warning nonetheless. Rosa was a sweet lady who would never lay a hand on him, but it was clear from the way she glared at her son that he might not live to see another day if he kept making inappropriate gestures under the table. When she cleared her throat, Lance straightened his back. Because as much as he hated Keith, and he really did, he valued his life more than any rivalry.

When he found his voice, his hands curled into fists on his thighs and he lowered his gaze to show subservience. All animosities put aside, he truly did regret what had led them to this place, and he was all too aware that his feud could have easily ended someone's life that night.

"I'm terribly sorry for what happened on Friday night, Coran." Silence and a glare from his mother. "Mr. Wimbleton-Smythe, I mean. I thought I'd told the police everything I know already, and I swear that everything I told them is true. It was an accident and I would take it back if I could." Lance let his eyes roam the round of adults remorsefully, settling on everyone save for his rival, who he was sure had gotten them tangled up in this mess in the first place.

It had to be his own father of all people who would break the silence that ensued. "Listen boy, someone could have been seriously injured by your carelessness-"

Lance cut him off before he even had a chance to embarrass his son in front of his archenemy. "What you'll have to believe me is that I never meant to let things get this far. In fact, I will apologize publicly in front of the whole damn school if that's what it takes to make people see how sorry I am. _But_."

"But?", Coran asked with a small nod and gestured for him to go on with a sympathetic glance. His head snapped to Keith, fists curled into his pants so tightly that his knuckles were white. "_But_ I'm not willing to be the only one to take the fall for ruining homecoming. I don't like how everyone keeps treating me like I'm the only one to blame, because that's- perdóname, mamá- absolute bullshit. You know what? I'll tell you what right now." Lance leaned over the principal's desk and jerked his thumb back in the direction of Keith. "This guy right here ain't no saint either and whatever punishment I'm getting, he better get twice as much, because any events that led me to drop the rope are entirely his fault."

If looks alone had the power to kill, Lance would have dropped dead in his seat ages ago. And Keith's murderous glares just kept coming as Coran looked between them expectantly. "Well? Is what he says true, Keith?"

Keith was smiling at Coran, but he was forcing it from the way his fingers kept gripping the edges of his seat. _What a psycho_, Lance thought, _had to physically restrain himself from lashing out._

"Of course it isn't true. It's not my fault _someone_ in this room can't seem to accept when he's slipped up." _Uh-oh_. Lance narrowed his eyes at him. _Thin_ _ice_. Keith crossed his arms over his chest like a stubborn first grader, and under different circumstances he would've found it funny. He didn't find it funny.

Laughing bitterly, Lance leaned back to keep himself from seizing the bastard by the neck and dragging him to the closest trash can where he belonged. His voice was lacking its usual smoothness when he spoke. "It looks like _someone_ in this room can't acknowledge his stake in this mess and that's why we're still here. Thanks a bunch, _Keith_. If you don't confess, we'll be here all day."

"You want a confession? _Fine_." Lance was surprised when Keith rose from where he had been slumped back against the seat like a total hobo to get down on one knee in front of Lance. Time seemed to slow down in that moment, all eyes on Keith, his included.

"McClain?" His voice jumped into his throat as he tried to make a sound, tried to tell Keith to cut it out. _Just what the hell did the guy think he was doing?! _Lance's thoughts were running wild as he stared at the kneeling guy. Keith had one hand on his knee, the other one behind his back, as he looked up at Lance with his same old dead expression.

"You wanted a confession, so here's what I really think." Keith cleared his throat as he removed his closed fist from behind his back, opening it just to reveal- his middle finger. _Oh_.

Keith flipped him the bird as he got back up. "Start lifting some weights or change your sissy beauty routine to something less slippery so that in the future you won't let stuff slip through your fingers and have material to then blame _me_ for your incompetence, you dumb fuck."

In retrospect, Lance really should have seen that one coming, just like he should have seen Coran's reaction coming, which was to shut down this argument before it even really started. "Boys, please remember that you're still technically on school grounds. No swearing allowed!", the headmaster rose to his feet and started pacing the office, unfolding a paper from his pants' pocket.

"To get back on track with our original subject of discussion, I have with me the official police report from Friday night." Coran sent the boys meaningful looks. "In this report, it states that after exchanging animosities between your opposing gangs for the whole night, someone saw you and your friends disappearing to the farthest corner of the gym hall where the disco ball was hung up near the ceiling with ropes. Is that correct so far, Lance?"

Self-restraint alone kept him seated and away from the boy's throat when Keith dared to sneer at him like he was the only one getting in trouble. Acting like he was too good for everyone- it was seriously pissing Lance off.

"Hey mullet. Why don't you go ahead and explain to them how you and your friends spiked the punch like ten minutes into the evening? I couldn't just let this go, now could I?"

Keith snarled in response. "Convenient for you to leave out the part where you had the same idea. You're just mad that we beat you to it. How the fuck-" Shiro cleared his throat behind him and let out a cough that sounded a lot like 'language', and Keith rolled his eyes. He tended to do that a lot, Lance noted. Looking like he was done with the world. Well, the world, and especially Lance, was certainly done with him. "Sorry, Shiro. _How_ were we supposed to know you'd take things that far?"

"As long as you have no evidence to back your claim, I would just shut my mouth if I were you, Kogane." Lance tried not to sound defensive, but he was well aware that the mullet was absolutely right. Not that he was going to let his parents or Coran know.

"Well, you should pretend to be me more often then, _if it will only shut you up_. You would do me and the world a great favor, McLame", Keith spat with all the venom of a sailor who had been prohibited from swearing.

He groaned in response to the nickname. "That pun was so _awful_ I should be allowed compensation payment for it."

"Us being here is all your fault, _Hoe_-gane. Tell them I'm innocent and I might consider letting you off the hook", he huffed.

Keith Kogane gave him an unamused look. "You mean just like you let the disco ball off the hook?"

Shiro helplessly looked around the room as accusations flew between the two of them, and from the looks of it neither the headmaster nor the other legal guardians knew what to do.

That was, until Keith cracked.

It took no less than two grown men, Shiro and Mr. McClain, to pull him off Lance, who was kicking back with all the ferocity he possessed.

Rosa McClain knelt down next to her son and turned his face to the left and then to the right to check for injuries. When she found that he was fine, she smacked her son's arm lightly and proceeded to scold him in Spanish. He was pouting all the way through it- not his fault that Keith had lashed out at him when he had only made a joke! All he had said was that Keith's parents must really hate their son if they always sent his older brother Shiro in their stead! How was he supposed to know Keith would be at his throat not two seconds later?

He didn't have time to think about whether he had hit home too closely with that remark because suddenly Coran was in front of his desk and placed a hand on Keith's shoulder, whispering something in his ear. After that, Keith seemed to calm down.

Lance brushed some 80s carpet off his clothes as he sat back down. Now that Keith had cooled down, they had agreed to continue their parent-student meeting.

In spite of everything that had happened in those past twenty minutes, the accusations, the fist fight, Coran was patiently waiting for either of the boys to speak. Surprisingly, it was Keith who took the initiative.

"Everything happened as stated in the police report. After spiking the punch, me and my gang got into a fight with Lance and his gang. It was stupid, and I don't even remember who started it."

Lance stared at his rival in disbelief, because the guy actually sounded… sincere? Well, that was a first. With a sigh, he decided to swallow his pride as well. "Yeah, and from there, things got a little out of hand. I paid the guy who was supposed to deliver the catering for the buffet to give all the food to me and my gang, and we set up our own buffet on our side of the gym. Only people who pledged loyalty to our side got food", he admitted with a sheepish smile. "I admit that was a nasty idea and I apologize for it."

Keith sighed, turning to Coran. "But it doesn't stop there. When I found out about the buffet, I bribed the DJ into playing only 80s music that I knew would piss Lance off."

Lance huffed. "Yeah, because who listens to those cringey old timers anyway? Just because your mop of hair is from that time doesn't mean you gotta _be_ the 80s, Marty McFly!"

"Okay, was that an actual _smart_ insult that references the great Back To The Future trilogy while also making fun of my desire to go back in time myself? _Or_ did you just name the first character from the 80s that came to mind?" Keith cocked a brow at him, making sure to sound only mildly impressed. Damn this guy and his ability to rub him in all the wrong ways.

"Shut up. Just- shut up", Lance muttered, face red from suppressed anger. He knew then that he would punch his pillow into the abyss once he got home. And he would stick a picture of Keith's ugly mug to it.

Before things could get ugly between them again, Coran chimed in with a voice of reason. Lance was starting to feel bad for him- he only wanted to do his job and _Keith_ was being so difficult. "So what happened after the delivery man and the DJ were bribed?"

Lance scratched the back of his neck. _Oh man_, he thought, _this wasn't easy to admit_. "As the mullet over there said, I was furious when I found out the crappy music was his fault. So me and my crew went over to him and his crew and I challenged him to a dance showdown-"

"-Winner would be declared the ruler of gym", Keith interrupted with a frown stuck on his face. Did that guy ever smile? Probably not. "He got angry when I told him I wasn't interested in his childish competition. By that point we were standing near the wall where the rope for the disco ball was tied to the hook. One thing led to another, insults were spoken, shoulders were shoved- you catch my drift."

Lance picked up on the pointed glare Keith was sending him- a silent demand to continue. "Things escalated pretty quickly from there- before I knew it, I was in a full on fist fight with Kogane. He shoved me so hard that I was toppling over, and so I grabbed the first thing on the wall I could reach to prevent the fall- which happened to be the rope the disco ball was attached to."

Keith nodded in agreement as he picked at his fingerless gloves. " Yeah. That damn thing somehow came off the hook and we couldn't tie it properly, so I ran up to the mic and told everyone to evacuate. I couldn't have possibly known that Lance and his noodle arms would be too weak to hold the rope until everyone had reached a certain safety distance."

Lance stood up from his chair and groaned in protest. "Hey! It's not my fault I don't gain muscle like other guys, okay?! If you're trying to feed on my insecurities, be my fucking guest!"

Rosa cleared her throat as she hovered over her son. "_Lengua_", she reprimanded with a stern expression.

Keith was about to shoot a comment at Lance when Mr. McClain suddenly interrupted the circle of their constant back and forth. "I've had about _enough_ of your bickering! Everyone be _quiet_ right now! I'm very, very disappointed, in both of you! What you boys did was not only absolutely and unforgivingly stupid, it was also extremely dangerous!" He turned to his son. "Mijo, do you have _any_ idea how long your mother and I must work to pay for the damages you and your irresponsible actions have done to the gym? I've heard enough today to want to cut your spending allowance for a whole year! Maybe that way you'll finally wake up and realize that there's more to life than girls, games and parties! You're no longer a child, so it's about time you start taking responsibility and acting your part as an adult."

Over the course of his father's speech, Lance had sunk deeper and deeper into his chair, his only wish being to be swallowed by the abyss and to never have to face anyone ever again. Mr. McClain sighed. "We'll discuss the rest at home, son."

Keith rose from his chair. "I believe Lance's dad said everything there is to it. Can I go now?" Shiro sent him a warning glare as he put a hand on his shoulder, but Keith only brushed him off. _Bold_ _move_, Lance marveled, _but then again, he was Shiro's brother_. He was probably the one person who _could_ get away with such a move.

All eyes turned to Coran, who merely pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded wearier than he had in a while, which nagged a little at his conscience. The guy deserved a serious rest already, he knew that. But he also knew that he couldn't help it. Because as much as he liked Coran, he hated Keith twice as much. And that would never change. "I think I have heard enough for now, but you'll hear from me in time. I'll try to think of an adequate solution for you boys."

Lance stared at his headmaster in disbelief. "For real? We're dismissed?"

Coran chuckled softly, picking up his favorite mug- the one Lance had bought him as an apology for all his time in the principal's office, the one that read 'I mustache you a question' in capital letters across the front- and smiled. He hid his smile behind the mug as he lifted it to sip his tea, but his eyes were crinkling with laughter.

"Yeah, boys. You're dismissed."

Lance swore he saw Coran wink at him before he got up and was basically dragged back to the car by his furious mother.

For once, he was so _not_ looking forward to getting home from school.


	2. At the warehouse

_No apologies, nah suckers I'm not sorry_

Keith was not sorry. He was angry, maybe furious, even, but he wasn't sorry. Not in the slightest. As soon as Coran released them, Keith brushed past Shiro to make it out before anyone got the funny idea to try and stop him.

While in the office, Keith had enough time to think up a carefully constructed escape route. His black hoodie zipped up, he blended right in with the musical theatre kids who were just coming from rehearsal and swarming out to the parking lot to get in their fancy, sponsored-by-mommy-and-daddy cars Keith and his friends liked to make fun of. But today, Keith didn't take the time to watch them get in their black Mercedes and Porsche. Somewhere behind him, he could make out an agitated male voice and a distinct call of his name. Keith made a beeline for his beloved motorbike before the voice could get to him, slinging his book bag fully over his shoulders as he stepped on the gas hard enough to leave a trail of dust behind.

_You can all sue me, y'all could be the cause of me_

While in the office, Keith had enough time to think up a carefully constructed escape route. Now that he was on the road, he had enough time to regret. But what exactly did he regret? He knew he _should_ be regretting the events of homecoming night by now, that was the correct and only morally acceptable answer to his dilemma, but the only thing he _could_ honestly regret was the time he wasted being stuck in Coran's office. Was he proud of that? Certainly not. If it were up to him alone, he would never get in trouble again. But fate had cursed him in the form of piercing blue eyes and a mouth that damned him before it even formed the words.

Irritation tugged at his face as he put on a pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes from the airflow around him- the next time he fled an unpleasant scolding, he would remember to at least put on a helmet before he took off.

But even without a helmet, Keith loved riding his bike. He loved the way the engine roared beneath him while the horizon opened up above him. He loved the wind and the speed, the adrenaline rushing through his veins at 85 miles per hour. He loved the endless possibilities of the road, being everywhere and nowhere at all, feeling so at home that he forgot ever feeling like a misfit at all. He loved feeling like he had a remote control for the world that allowed him to turn off the noise and fast-forward himself from one place to another if he didn't like the current frame. He could speed up his bike, accelerate until he became the last focused spot in a blurred world that was too complicated to handle in high definition.

His bike was more than a getaway vehicle, it was power and control. But it was also the loss thereof. He had known that much ever since he had seen a speeding biker get torn to shreds by a guardrail as a kid.

Without a set destination in mind, Keith cruised around aimlessly for a while at a moderate speed- after all, he knew better than to try anything too reckless without a helmet on. That way, he was able to appreciate the environment around him, if there was anything to appreciate at all. Bit by bit, he started recognizing the area.

The outskirts of town were seedy and run-down, even more so than the word 'outskirts' suggested. Keith knew; he had lived here for most of his life. And there, just at the end of the road, was the building of his childhood, looking seedier and more run-down than the rest of the neighborhood combined.

The abandoned warehouse was formally owned by the community ever since the former landlord had gone bankrupt two decades ago, but years of neglect had overrun the whole place with all kinds of weeds. The words _NO TRESPASSING_ were scribbled across the fence with bright red paint. There also was a decent amount of graffiti, some of which he recognized as his own. Keith smirked when some of the red paint peeled off where he swung himself over the fence. From the other side, he could easily survey the huge backyard that stretched for miles. The place wasn't much of a treat for the eyes nowadays, but he remembered it with vibrant colors as the hub of the happiest and most carefree years of his life.

In this place full of memories, he had spent whole summers chasing Shiro and Pidge with water guns and drying their wet clothes over the fireplace in the evenings. Discovered by chance, the warehouse originally served as Pidge's and his secret hideout, a much needed place to plan preschool-level mischief secluded from the eyes of adults. He remembered playing cowboys and Indians in the field and eating whole jars of cookies 'borrowed' from the top shelf in Mrs. Holt's kitchen.

When they were older, he remembered dragging Shiro to this sacred place of theirs whenever he was off-duty. If they felt particularly adventurous, they set up their camp on the flat roof of the square building. Each of them bundled up in a blanket, they would watch the stars together as Shiro taught them constellations and told them stories of faraway places until they fell asleep.

Keith took a few steps in the yard. The green grass he remembered so fondly, once site of suspense-packed soccer matches and unforgettable horseback rides with Shiro, was now dead in the colors of autumn.

Both entrances to the warehouse had been nailed down with wood planks long ago, but Keith knew a secret way in through a hidden hole in the bushes near the wall. Pidge and him had stumbled over the passageway by accident during a game of tag- it was one of the secrets both had sworn they would take to the grave.

Keith opened the hatch and lowered himself into the short tunnel- even if he had to crouch down to move forward, he managed. He always did.

Once inside, Keith brushed the dirt from his pants and looked at what he had converted to his personal refuge. The warehouse was spacious with high windows and a zero people policy, which made it the ideal hideout to escape to when he didn't want company.

He didn't come here as often as he used to -maybe a sign that he was getting better- but often enough to justify a comfy couch and a mini fridge, as well as an old tube TV and a CD player for his boredom.

But today Keith wasn't in the mood to watch some TV. He was in the mood to punch a certain someone until his knuckles bled, a certain someone that had gotten him in trouble in front of the school, and not for the first time. But the next best thing to punching Lance was a punching bag with a print of his face on it that his friends had gotten him for Christmas. What had originally been meant as a gag gift, soon became his best friend in a fight against pent-up anger and the constant violation of school law.

No matter how much Shiro opposed, he was keeping the LaPug- short for LAnce PUnching baG- until the day its name giver stopped being an asshole. Which probably meant that he was keeping it until the very day he died. In which case he would totally want for his funeral guests to burn the LaPug in his honor.

Whenever Keith was in a boxing mood, he plugged in the CD player to let his emotions run free. This time, it was Eminem's No Apologies that echoed through the hall and filled him with new determination.

_No apologies, y'all feelin' the force of me_

The chilled out but offensive tune was the ideal background music for his aggressive thoughts and set the pace for the punching he was about to get done. Keith cracked his knuckles and shrugged his jacket off, making his way over to his punching paradise.

_No remorse for me, like there was no recourse for me_

"Hey fucker, it's been a while", Keith told the LaPug and stroked its cheek before swinging his fist hard enough to remove some plaster from the ceiling it was attached to.

"You know", he continued as he took another step towards Lance's face. "You don't have a hideous face. If you weren't so fucking annoying all the time…" He left that sentence unfinished because there was honestly no scenario in which he would say the words and not barf. He might have been gay, but he still had _standards_. And someone who could make him this furious just by breathing certainly didn't meet any of those. He was surprised there were girls out there willing to date Lance, as obnoxious as he was. And not to forget the strong perfume he sprayed himself with in the locker room every fucking time they had P.E. together. Every. Fucking. Time.

He really hoped he hadn't said any of that out loud because the next things he heard were footsteps and the radio's volume being toned down.

_No apologies, not even acknowledging you at all_

"Eminem and the LaPug, huh? So the meeting with Coran went that bad?" Pidge's voice was suddenly right behind him and he jumped. When he turned around to look at them, they had a sly look on their face. Damn their gremlin powers, and not for the first time.

"Can't I listen to Eminem without you drawing conclusions?" Keith picked at his fingerless gloves before crossing his arms over his chest. Time to get defensive? Not a chance when his opponent was the one person who could read him like an open book, and Pidge made that clear by the way they snorted.

"Oh please, I know you nerd. You only ever listen to Eminem unironically when your mood hits rock bottom. So what went wrong exactly?" Keith could see the gears running behind Pidge's eyes as they drifted to the plaster on the ground all around the LaPug. Well, there was no use trying to fool them. There never was, even if he loved denying it.

"What went wrong? Ha! What _didn't_ go wrong. It was a fucking disaster. We fought the whole time and didn't reach an agreement. At all. But at least I got a good punch in." He accentuated those words with a well-aimed box on the LaPug, enjoying the way its chains rattled as he removed his fist.

Pidge groaned, not for the first time annoyed with Keith's lack of self-control. "Ugh, tell me about it. Seriously, things can't go on like that. We still have nearly two years ahead of us and as things are right now, I don't see either of you two graduating. Not by a long shot."

For a few painful seconds, the two of them just looked at each other, neither of them willing to back down. Then Keith huffed and stared them down. "I _will_ graduate no matter what-"

"And no matter who you have to kill. I know, I know. You've always been a stubborn idiot", they sighed and leaned against the wall, adjusting their glasses. That's how Keith knew there was no real malice there.

"I don't need this right now, 4.0 GPA. We can't all be acing our classes like you." By no means was Keith jealous of them, he was proud if anything. But he did not need a lecture about school by someone who had been offered a program to skip high school and go straight to university in their Freshman year. He loved Pidge unconditionally, but they definitely did not understand the struggle average students like him faced every day. They did not understand the struggle of not understanding maths even after practicing for several hours a day. They did not know the struggle of scoring the lowest results of the whole class and getting called out for it time after time. _Again, Mr. Kogane? You should start taking your time here more seriously, Mr. Kogane. Let's all not repeat the same mistakes Mr. Kogane made in his text. If my math class is such a joke to you, you are free to leave anytime, Mr. Kogane. I won't be surprised to see you repeating my class again next year, Mr. Kogane- but they say third time's the charm, so maybe there is hope even for someone like you. Why am I not surprised you're bottom of the class again, Mr. Kogane? Aren't you getting tired of failure already? If you just tried already-_

Keith did not realize he was staring off into the void until Pidge waved a hand in front of his eyes and he was snapped out of his thoughts. They gave him a disapproving look.

"Are you even listening to what I'm getting at here?", they pinched the bridge of their nose. It made them look several years older, and not unlike Shiro or Mrs. Holt, and if not for their tired glare, he might have teased them for it.

"I, uh… You were on about acing school?", Keith tried and judging by the groan that came as an answer, that was not what Pidge had wanted to hear from him.

"Hun, I'm _ace_-ing everything I do, but that's so not what I was getting at." They put their hands on their hips and stuck out their tongue at him.

'_Til I get a call that God's coming_

Keith facepalmed and let out a frustrated groan. He seriously did not know how to deal with meme lord Pidge and their stupid puns most of the time. "Ugh. May the good lord have mercy on my soul."

"I thought y'all knew the drill. In 'Murica, there's only salvation for white, straight cis males." They gave their best southern accent and Keith couldn't help but smile briefly. There was something so silly about Pidge that always managed to cheer him up even when he was supposed to be mad.

"You forgot 'rich and old'. Preferably Vietnam veterans", Keith stabbed a finger at the air matter-of-factly. And then the mood shifted and Pidge was suddenly serious again.

"Yeah, and that. But to get back to the point-"

"Please spare me." Keith was not in the mood for a lecture, immediately shutting any kind of conversation in that direction down. But he knew better than to expect them to actually spare him. This was Pidge he was talking about, Pidge who had been with him through thick and thin. They would speak their mind when and however they pleased, and they knew that Keith would let them.

"Nope, I'm afraid I can't do that. Because a best friend _can_ and always _will_ make use of their right to put an idiot in their place."

"And who is to say they should get to abuse that right to torture said idiot?"

"It clearly says so in the fine print in the best friend agreement. But I'm glad we both agree that you're being an idiot", they stated nonchalantly, inspecting their nails.

_No apologies, laugh fuckers it's all funny_

Turning to the LaPug again, Keith hid a small smile. "Hm, funny thing. I don't remember ever signing something like that."

"_Anyway_, where was I? Right, your dropping grades."

"Pidge, _let it go_", Keith groaned as he connected his fist with the LaPug's face. He thought that letting out his anger would make him feel better. Right now, it only made his knuckles sting.

"No, you listen here, young man-"

"I'm older than you."

"But obviously none the wiser." Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw them approach him and place a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're going through some difficult times, and Shiro asked me to go easy on you, but you acting like you have to bear this burden all alone? It's seriously pissing me off. Do you seriously think I'd turn you away if you just reached out for help?"

_I can spit in your face while you're standin' across from me_

Keith snarled and pushed their arm off. "I don't need pity. And I don't fucking need fixing for something that isn't broken. No offense, but can you all just lay off me for a while? Shiro too. It's getting real annoying."

"It's not pity! God, you're _pigheaded_!", they shook their head but took a step back anyway. "We're just worried about you. But fine, have it your way. I gave Shiro a copy of my notes from the classes you missed. And Keith? When you decide to stop being a stubborn ass, you know where to find me."

Keith spun around to tell them that he was _fine_, that they were all worrying for nothing, that he appreciated their concern and that he was sorry for overreacting. But Pidge had already turned their back on him and was leaving through their secret passageway. And so, Keith stayed quiet. If Pidge wanted to leave, fine. He did not need them or anyone else.

_No apologies_

With a sigh, he resumed hitting the LaPug and telling himself that he was fine with being alone. That was, until his phone rang. When it stopped on the third ring, he immediately knew that the caller wasn't Shiro. That made him stop in his tracks, because the only one besides Shiro who had his number was Pidge and they had just left- his eyes went wide as he realized that there was a third possibility, one that had grown considerably with the intrusion of Lance McClain in his life. Sprinting to where he had carelessly tossed his bag on the floor, he retrieved his phone to see three missed calls on the display, all of them from the school.

"_FUCK_!"


End file.
